Natural Arches
by loftyperch
Summary: The Avengers are faced with a new kind of archnemesis. Steve is captured, and it's up to Tony to save him. Hilarity ensues. Set shortly before the events of Venture #308 "Tears of a Sea Cow," while The Monarch is still trolling for new arches, just in case anyone was wondering :3 - Reposted from AO3
1. Chapter 1

It was just as much Tony's fault as anyone else's. If he hadn't been so damn distracted by those D cups might have been able to cover somebody. Maybe everything would have turned out differently …

As it was, he, like all the other Avengers – even Natasha, and he was _so_ going to call her on it later – couldn't tear his eyes away from the voluptuous new super-villainess with her plunging neckline and thigh high gold boots. And now it was just him, this stunning creature, and an army of butterfly-themed henchmen occupying 34th Street beneath a giant, hovering cocoon. The rest of his team had collapsed to the pavement, tiny tranquilizer darts dotting their exposed flesh. Thor had been gaping with such enthusiastic appreciation that he'd caught two in the mouth. Hulk had been felled by at least twenty of them arranged like a pointillism masterpiece across his chest. Even Captain America, too smitten to duck behind his shield, had a pair protruding from his jaw. Tony only escaped unscathed by virtue of the tough outer shell he projected to the world … literally.

He felt bad actually, though _ever_ so slightly amused; it wasn't every day he managed to outlast all the other Avengers on the battlefield, not every day his armor proved to be more reliable than even the thick skin of a god or the agility of a crazy KGB ninja witch. And it certainly wasn't every day he got to catch Steve snoozing like an overgrown boy scout in his favorite red, white and blue footie pajamas. Adorable.

"We've got you surrounded. Surrender, and we will consider leniency," commanded the woman imperiously, and, _wow_, her voice did not suit her appearance. In fact, the deep, manly rumble of it quickly snapped Tony back to his senses.

He dropped into a guarded stance and waited, tense, for her to continue.

But she didn't, just silently fumed for a moment and snatched a walkie talkie from the nearest henchman. "Honey, that's your cue. Remember? You stride out and give your big 'no mercy' speech? You

love

that speech."

"Why should I?" demanded a tinny, whining voice over the comm. "You've already done all the fun stuff. What's the point?"

"The point is I worked very hard to get us this gig, and it could be our chance to break into the big time. This is The _Avengers_ we're talking about!" she argued, hand on her hip, acting much too much like Pepper and apparently unconcerned that Iron Man and the henchmen were privy to the whole conversation.

"I don't want the big time! The big time's for chumps like Dr. Doom."

"But sweetie, we're doing so well –"

Tony tuned her out when he felt a hand wrap around his ankle, gripping the armor hard. He glanced down to find Steve reaching for him, looking a little green around the gills.

"Iron Man," he whispered desperately, and Tony knelt to hear better and inspect Steve's disturbingly dilated pupils. Without meaning to, Tony found himself cupping the un-darted side of Steve's face and running an armored thumb across his cheek … and really hoping Steve was too out of it to register the tender gesture.

"What is it, Cap? JARVIS call for help!"

"I already have, sir."

"- you never support me in front of the henchmen!"

"This stuff is strong, we might die if you don't shut them up and get help," Steve managed before slipping back into unconsciousness, the thud of his helmet dull against the asphalt.

Suddenly understanding the magnitude of the threat posed by this deceptively inept butterfly cult, Tony propelled himself toward their queen and snagged her with one arm, his free hand pressing a repulsor to her cheek. He, more than most, was against kidnapping as a general rule, but he honestly could not come up with a better plan, didn't have time to try very hard.

"Get your henchmen out of here, now!" And really, Tony had no idea where this ferocity was coming from, this heart-pounding urgency.

"Okay, but we've got to take one of yours as collateral, that's how this works." Even as she said it a small company of henchmen broke from their ranks and surrounded Steve, a few more coming to help when they realized just how much he weighed.

"You can't!" Tony cried, more than half-wishing they'd take Clint instead – he'd probably make such an infuriating prisoner they'd send him back with a conciliatory box of chocolates and a sincere letter of apology.

"Then we're staying and fighting it out," she hissed, and, helpless, torn, Tony allowed Steve to be unceremoniously dragged into the cocoon, shield and all.

The piercing, nasal voice, which clearly belonged to the head butterfly, whoever he was, rang out and echoed harshly down the city street as the costumed swarm retreated. "You may have won this round, Iron Man, but I'll be back for my queen, and you shall feel the cruel sting of The Monarch!" And really, thought Tony bitterly, that high pitched maniacal laugh was not the most intimidating he'd ever heard.

And besides, monarchs don't sting.

Just as the cocoon floated away, five SHIELD copters roared down from the sky. Tony shoved his unnervingly calm prisoner away and ran to meet Coulson over Natasha's fallen form.

"They took him! Get me some reinforcements and I'll go after them!"

"Slow down there, Iron Man," replied Coulson in his best maybe-it's-ironic-maybe-it's-Maybelline tone. "You did a good

job

just now. You're finally thinking like a team player."

"But they …" Tony gestured weakly after the hastily departing cocoon.

"Are members of the Guild of Calamitous Intent, and they won't harm a hair on Captain America's head unless you do something stupid like chase after them." Coulson knelt, plucking darts from Natasha's back and shoulders. EMTs swarmed on all sides, shuffling Tony out of the way, ignoring him in favor of the wounded.

"_The Guild_?" Tony could barely bite the words out they were so distasteful. "Since when do we arch glorified trick-or-treaters?"

"We needed the extra revenue source, and the OSI has been having difficulty dealing with The Monarch recently. It was a mutually beneficial contract." Apparently deciding Natasha was in good hands with the EMTs, Coulson stood and offered an arm to their prisoner with a decidedly wolfish smirk. "If you'll come this way, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch, we'll find you some accommodations."

Tony seethed.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve woke slowly, stretching languidly and yawning. He hadn't slept so well since 1940. He had, though, dreamt at length about a fluttering horde of butterflies attacking what had once been Gimbel's and about cool metal fingers brushing his cheek. The butterflies had been frightening in a surreal sort of way, but the touch – and really he shouldn't be dreaming about Tony that way – had been calming and soft and pleasantly hazy.

It took another few minutes of dozing in the dark before he realized with some horror that his dreams were in fact very real memories. He now vividly recalled being shot in the face by tranquilizer darts while distracted, everyone but Tony collapsing and – a blush warmed his face – an affectionate caress, then nothing. He had obviously been moved from the battlefield afterward, but by whom? The pitch black of the room offered no suggestions. He reached to his bedside in search of his shield and found it gone.

_Villains then._

He sat straight up, triggering motion activated fluorescent lights which briefly blinded him.

"Oh, hey, he's awake, check it out," cried a cheery, nasal voice.

"Who's there?" Steve asked tentatively, eyes straining and stinging in the harsh glare.

"Just us," replied a different voice hastily. "Oh my god it's really him. This is so sweet. So sweet."

Steve blinked until he could make out two henchmen in enormous butterfly wings, one short and husky the other tall and lanky, standing outside what was clearly his cell.

"Where am I?" Steve stood, taking in his obnoxiously purple surroundings. He fought the urge to pace.

"You're in the lair of The Monarch. This is 24, I'm 21, and can I just say I'm a huge fan?" the stockier henchman gushed, pulling a set of keys from his utility belt.

"What are you doing? The Monarch will kill us if we let him go!" 24 cried.

"Dude, if we turn him over, they'll have to give Mrs. The Monarch back."

"So you can be the big hero and the get the girl? The girl _who's married to your boss_?"

"They never have to know it was us!"

Steve glanced back and forth between them as they bickered, unsure what to make of the whole situation. He decided to pace after all.

Meanwhile, back at SHIELD HQ, Tony was pacing too, striding back and forth impatiently while Natasha made a call from her bed in the medical wing.

"Well?"

"It's ringing, calm down. Oh, hey, Mol, it's me."

"Ask her."

Natasha just glared icily and switched to Russian – probably just to annoy him.

"Clint, how about yours?" Tony turned on his heel to face the next bed where Clint lay, equally absorbed in a long distance conversation. At least his was in a language Tony could eavesdrop fluently in.

"Well yes, I actually do have a reason for calling ... No, I just want to know about a Guild guy, goes by the name of The Monarch ... Yeah, the butterfly one ..." There was an agonizing pause while a lengthy explanation unfurled. Clint's eyes widened. Then his jaw dropped. "His last three archenemies? Just like that? Okay, I'll call him ... I won't tell him I talked to you ... You too ... And Shore Leave? Thank you for the heads up, I mean it."

Tony was practically vibrating with impatience.

"Well, what about his last three archenemies?"

"They're dead. He killed them." Clint's voice was disbelieving, but his faraway gaze said he took the warning very seriously. "I've got to make another call."

"Banner, tell me you've gotten through to someone." Now Tony whirled on Bruce in the farthest bed.

"Not yet. I haven't really kept in touch with anybody since ... you know. Dr. Quymn is out of the country, Dr. Schumpmaker went crazy, Professor Fantomos went Guild, and Professor Impossible isn't taking any calls. I can still give Dr. Sorayama a try though."

"Thanks, Bruce." Tony said, genuinely sorry for putting him through what must be a painful reminder of the life he'd been forced to leave behind. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Natasha hanging up and turned back to her. "Anything?"

"Nothing. She keeps up on Guild business as best she can, but she's not a member. She did say The Monarch's getting a violent reputation though."

"I'm not getting through to Sorayama," Bruce announced, defeated.

Clint was now talking in hushed tones to another old OSI buddy.

Tony gritted his teeth. No one knew what to say.

Thankfully, no one needed to say anything, because Thor chose that moment to step out of the closet.

"I'm afraid my consultation with The Master was most unhelpful, friends."

"Well what did he say? I thought you said he was all knowing?" Natasha pressed.

"He just kept trying to explain the plot of movie to me, one I have never seen. It is about a rich white man and a homeless black man who must exchange lives."

"You mean _Trading Places_?" Tony asked incredulously. "You're right, that _was_ most unhelpful."

"Well," interrupted Clint, hanging up. "That was Brock Samson. He said he thinks we can take care of it ourselves. We just have to survive long enough for The Monarch to lose interest in us."

All eyes fell on Tony.

"Thanks guys, for all your help," he began, suddenly calm. "Stay here and rest up. I think I know what to do." Hoping he was right, Tony slipped out the door and down the hall to the makeshift interrogation room set up in the nurses' lounge.

He let himself in to find Fury and Coulson laughing genially with their prisoner as she sucked down a Marlboro.

"I'm taking her back. Her husband's a goddamn hero-killer, and I refuse to sacrifice Steve so you guys can flirt with a married woman."

Tony ignored the SHIELD-approved deathglares aimed in his general direction and grabbed the queen butterfly by her arm.

"And put that out, there are oxygen tanks all over this wing." He frowned disapprovingly when she dropped her butt on the linoleum and ground it out with her heel. "You really are a bad guy aren't you?"

"Honey, you don't know the half of it." Dr. Mrs. The Monarch sneered but rose to accompany him out the door.

"So do you have someone you can call to come pick you up or do we have to follow a million stupid rules governing prisoner exchanges?" Tony asked, guiding her none too gently down the corridor.

"There's no one I can call. You're supposed to arrange this directly with The Monarch or through a Guild-sanctioned proxy ..."

"See, this is why I prefer freelancers." Now it was Tony's turn to sneer.


	3. Chapter 3

Happy was there to meet them curbside, attentively holding the door to the Mulsanne and, unable to help himself, ogling Dr. Mrs. The Monarch as she climbed in.

Tony caught him at it and shot him a loaded glance that warned of imminent

unemployment

.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Happy."

"Of course sir," and Happy had the grace to look embarrassed.

Once they were off Tony broke the silence as rudely as he possibly could, which was very rudely.

"So what exactly is your

doctorate

in?" He was already preparing his smarmy smirk for when she confessed it was an unearned, Guild-given title. At most he expected a useless

degree in

entomology.

"Mechanical engineering," she bristled, obviously used to answering that question.

"What?" Tony was physically taken aback, futilely trying to reconcile super-villainess with could-have-been-his-classmate.

"I'm not just eye candy, you know. I built that fucking cocoon, _Mr._ Stark." She magically produced a pack of cigarettes from somewhere in her skintight costume and fished one out. "Got a light?"

"Don't smoke in my car."

"And this will go a lot easier if you stop treating me like this is _my_ fault! You're the one who grabbed me."

"Fair enough, wait, _mechanical engineering_? What are you doing in the Guild?"

"Exactly what you're doing in the Avengers. I'm achieving scientific breakthroughs every day and I'm having the time of my life putting them to use." Still agitated, she tried to take a drag on her unlit cigarette and, disappointed, shoved it back in the pack.

Tony had to wrestle with that for a moment. He couldn't really refute her assertion; for all the trouble it got him into, he _did_ enjoy being an Avenger and the mix of discovery and danger that entailed. He wouldn't admit it out loud though.

"Okay, but there are plenty of other protagonists in the sea. Why us?" he finally asked.

"Because of you."

"_Me_?" He just couldn't win with this chick. Every other word rumbling out of her mouth was leaving him gaping and questioning the laws of the universe. "Why me?"

"Well, you're a lot like The Monarch's old archenemy."

"One of the ones he's murdered?"

"No, Rusty Venture."

"From the old cartoon?"

"Yeah. You're a super-scientist with severe daddy issues, more ego than you know what to do with, a substance dependency and an unstoppable bodyguard who's probably really your boyfriend. The only difference is you're a success."

"_Daddy issues_? Are you serious? And he's not really my bodyguard …"

"Oh for god's sake I know you're Iron Man. I meant Captain America."

"I need a drink."

Steve had given up pacing, instead just watching Henchmen 21 and 24 argue, then make each other laugh, then argue, then make each other laugh, then argue again. They made a lot of pop culture references that he couldn't follow, and they had long ago been sidetracked from their debate over letting him out, but their rhythm reminded him of the radio comedies he and his mother used to listen to after dinner, and he got drawn in.

He was just as startled as they were when a company of henchman approached and informed them that Steve had been summoned to the throne room.

With resignation he allowed himself to be shackled at the wrists and led down the corridor at dart-gunpoint. He was taken up six levels in a high speed elevator and shoved unceremoniously into a circular control room, clearly the nerve center of the lair.

A slender man with sharp features – _wow_ eyebrows – and a tall crown, costumed in black and orange sat upon a central throne. At his feet rested a large, round shield, emblazoned with a stylized butterfly insignia on a gold ground. The paint

job

looked suspiciously fresh.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Captain America." The Monarch steepled his fingers and grinned maniacally. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." Steve kept his voice level, surreptitiously taking in his surroundings. The place was crawling with busy minions, all of them equipped with dart guns and heavy utility belts, all of them stealing glances at him.

"Don't get smart with me, Captain. You're what we in the villain business like to call a big ass bargaining chip, and I am prepared to keep you until all of my demands are met."

"And my shield?"

"Oh, you mean _my_ shield? No, I'm keeping that forever." The Monarch cackled, low and evil in the back of his throat.

"So what are your demands?"

"Oh, the usual things: Money, a glowing recommendation from your bosses strongly suggesting I should get to arch Dr. Venture again, a Winnebago with burgundy interior, some new software for the control room, maybe a satellite … Oh, and Iron Man's armor."

"You won't get _that_," said Steve, surprised how bitter he sounded. He knew perfectly well that Tony wouldn't give up the armor for anything or anyone, not even for one of his teammates. He knew he'd never be as important to Tony as that armor. But knowing it didn't make it sting any less. "And don't you want your wife back?"

"Please, she's hardly a damsel in distress. She's probably on her way back here with classified information as we speak. Hell, she could probably seduce that idiot Tony Stark out of his armor in five minutes flat." Clearly sensing he had struck a nerve, The Monarch's grin turned positively devious. "Either I get that nice shiny armor to go with my fancy new shield or I kill you. It's really a win-win for me."

"I guess you'll have to kill me then."


	4. Chapter 4

"Nice place." Dr. Mrs. The Monarch swept into the mansion like she owned it, high heeled strides taking her down the stairs and into the lab after Tony. She circled the workbenches examining gadgets and circuitry and half-built machines with a discerning eye while her reluctant host made straight for the row of floor-to-ceiling cases enshrining his collection of armor.

Dummy noticed the newcomer right away and zoomed across the room to inspect her thoroughly, top to bottom.

"Not you too!" Tony grumbled, catching sight of the betrayal. Even inanimate objects he'd designed himself had fallen victim to her feminine wiles. "I'd like to apologize for my lecherous co-workers and half-wit robot. Our contract doesn't have some kind of ironclad sexual harassment clause, does it?"

"Actually it does, but don't worry. I dress this way for a reason."

"You like the attention?" Tony keyed in the password for the Mark IV and stepped inside the case as the suit cracked open for him.

"It gives me an extra edge against my male protagonists. The straight ones anyway." She shrugged delicately and smirked, petting Dummy until his gears whirred happily.

"For the last time, Cap is not my boyfriend," Tony moaned, longing for another drink. Was he really so obvious? Had someone tattooed 'giant mancrush on Steve Rogers' across his forehead while he wasn't looking? "JARVIS, do you think there's something going on between us?"

"No sir," the room answered, "but it's clear to everyone that you care very deeply about the Captain. I dare say you wouldn't be this worried if any of the other Avengers were in his predicament."

"Remind me to replace you with Siri when I get back."

"Of course, sir."

Muttering some of the most profane words he could remember (and some more that he invented on the fly), Tony stepped into his armor. He noted his guest's admiring gaze as it snapped shut and sealed around him, the helmet clanking down between them. It was but a small concession for the sheer volume of asshattery he'd had to deal with all day. He stalked across the room and swept the villainess up into his arms.

"Ooh," she phlegmily cooed, running gloved hands across the smooth red and gold of his shoulders appreciatively. "Do you ever carry Captain America like this?"

Feeling braver behind the mask, feeling inexplicably and against all empirical evidence like he could trust this woman, and feeling he'd had quite enough of her lip, Tony decided to come clean.

"Okay, so I like him, maybe even love him, that doesn't mean I'm going to do anything about it. He's the definition of old school, and he's way too good for me besides, so lay off the knife twisting. I get it, you found my one weakness, you're such an awesomely clever super villain, and your shit tastes like Ghiradelli. Congratulations, Madame Butterfly."

"So there _is_ some fight in you." Dr. Mrs. The Monarch grinned, sliding the tips of her fingers around the glow of the arc reactor saucily.

"By the way, when we hit altitude, you're gonna be freezing in that outfit."

"Pssst. Hey, over here."

Steve rolled off his cot and met Henchman 21 at the cell bars. 21 made sure there was no one else in the hallway, then furtively slipped a key into the lock and swung the gate wide.

Steve didn't budge, eyeing his jailer warily.

"Come on, we've only got a couple minutes while 24's getting coffee."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"What am I going to do, trick you into getting locked in some _other_ cell? Try to get you to buy a timeshare in Boca? Come on, SHIELD could be torturing Mrs. The Monarch right now."

Almost against his will, Steve's feet carried him out into the hallway. The thought of his shield - the world's entire supply of vibranium - in the hands of a certifiably crazy butterfly tried to hold him back, but the thought of freedom - and saving the taxpayers a great deal of ransom money - propelled him forward.

"Don't worry," he said as they dashed toward the elevator. "They won't torture anyone. I mean, they have permission from the government, which kind of makes me question the adminstration, but it's not the best way to get accurate intel."

"Well we still have to hurry. The Monarch's already negotiating with some guy who looks like Mace Windu with an eyepatch, and last I saw they were both pretty pissed."

The elevator whisked them down several flights this time, dropping them in a small motorpool which appeared to house only a single butterfly themed car and the mangled wreck of a powder blue Stanza. They crossed the room, and 21 opened a hatch to the moonlit green of the Sheep Meadow.

Steve slipped out onto the grass and turned expectantly, but his guide hung back.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

"Can't you get back from here?"

"I can, but won't it go better for you if your boss thinks I took you by force?"

"Will I get to meet the Avengers?"

"Probably."

"I'm in!"

And so they fled across the field toward Avenger Mansion in fits and starts, 21 having to stop every now and then to catch his breath. When they were a safe distance away from the cocoon, they slowed to a walk.

"Thank you, by the way, for all your help."

"No problem. This is awesome, actually, getting to rescue Captain America. It's like I'm in a comic book or something." 21 beamed.

"You seem like a nice guy, how'd you end up a henchman?"

"I was kidnapped from my eighth grade trip to Washington DC, and it's steady work as long as The Monarch's not in jail or anything. Hey, what's Iron Man like?"

"He's ... complicated."

"I'm surprised he didn't come save you right away. I mean, aren't you guys like best friends or something?"

Steve pondered that for a moment. If best friends meant someone who could tell you the unvarnished truth, then yes. If best friends meant someone who wouldn't push your buttons just because he could, then no. If best friends meant someone who brushed your cheek tenderly when you were lying injured on the pavement, then yes ... but Steve didn't think that was the proper definition.

"I don't really know," he admitted. "We work well together, but he can be infuriating. I like him a lot, but part of me doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how I feel."

21's masked gaze turned positively quizzical. Steve blushed under the stare without really knowing why.

"Holy shit. You _like_ him, don't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," Steve mumbled, knowing exactly what 21 meant.

"Do you think he's cute?"

"Tony's a very handsome guy, but that doesn't mean that I ... I'm _attracted_ to him." But now that the thought had been implanted, certain knots in his stomach at inoppotune moments made sense, certain flutters in his chest and half-remembered dreams fell into context. His heart was beating faster just thinking about the possibility that he might, in fact, have _those kinds_ of feelings, and Central Park was swimming around him just thinking about the possbility that he might have those kinds of feelings for a man.

"Dude, you totally are," 21 was gleeful in his absolute certainty, overjoyed that he had apparently discovered something that no one else knew about America's favorite son. "Those girls at ComiCon were right!"

Steve was so distraught he didn't even notice the faint streak of repulsor blue that split the sky on its way to the cocoon.


End file.
